


I WILL FIND YOU- 100 AU Stories of OTPs Reaching Through Time and Space to Be Where They Belong

by ScarletteStar1



Series: I WILL FIND YOU- AU and Canon Divergent Stories about OTPs Reaching Across Time and Space To Be Where They Belong [1]
Category: Fringe (TV), Person of Interest (TV), The X-Files, Wuthering Heights - All Media Types
Genre: AUs, Love, Multi, Multiple Fandoms, Otps, Song fics, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: "No matter where you goI will find youif it takes a long, long timeNo matter where you goI will find youIf it takes a thousand years. . . "  I Will Find You, by Clannad.This work is dedicated to the amazing readers who have given so much to me through the fic world. . .  you all have my heart forever and always.Multiple fandoms, OTPs finding each other though space and time. . .  lengths and ratings will vary. Posted in no particular order other than that which grabs my imagination. . .  prompts are always invited.





	1. Where I Belong (Wuthering Heights)

“You’re going to let that filthy fuck make your latte?”

“Hindley!” Catherine giggled. She prayed that the chatter of the cafe and the hiss of the steam machines had obscured his voice as much as his dark glasses obscured his bloodshot, hungover eyes. “You are wretched.”

“What can I get you?” The barista asked. His dark hair hid half his face. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and revealed the tattooed flesh of his forearms. Catherine stared at them in awe.

“I am going to have a double espresso. And maybe some dry toast. Oh, no skip the toast. Just the coffee. And my sister will have a - well, what will you have Catherine?”

“Hmm? Oh I’ll have a mocha latte. Thank you,” she said.

“What name should I put it under?”

“I’m going to go take a shit,” Hindley said. “Put it under your name. And you can pay this time too. I’ll make it up next time.”

“Yeah, right,” Catherine said as Hindley walked off in the direction of the loo. “You can put it under Catherine.”

The young man nodded and she stepped aside to wait as he made the coffees. As she was waiting her phone chirped and she pulled it out to check her messages.

“Cathy,” the barista called.

“Do you mean me?”

“Yes, I mean you,” he said in a severe tone.

“My name is Catherine.”

“Well you look like a Cathy to me. And just so you know, my hands are clean. I’m a painter. This is paint on my hands. It just doesn’t wash off.”

“You mustn’t mind my brother,” Catherine snorted. “He’s a complete ass. He was up drinking with his frat boys all night and truth be told he’s probably still a bit drunk. I wasn’t worried about your hands in the slightest.”

“I’m Heath,” he said and extended his hand. She took it and they shook hands warmly. His hazel eyes were almost too pretty for the rest of his face. He didn’t smile, but she did.

“It’s nice to meet you, Heath,” she said.

**< 3 <3 <3**

She went back two days later to get coffee there again and he wasn’t there. She found her heart dropped and she didn’t know why. So she went out for cocktails with her girls and forgot about it until the next day. She went back. And she went back again. She kept going back until he was working and she stepped up to the bar and ordered a mocha latte.

“For Cathy, yeah?” He asked with a smirk.

“If you say so,” she grinned.

**< 3 <3 <3**

“So what kind of art do you do anyway?” She asked him. She’d figured out his schedule. She’d gone at a time when it wasn’t busy and she could linger at the bar and chat.

“Know much about art do you?”

“Hardly anything at all,” she said. “But I like pretty pictures of like skies and clouds and horses and stuff.”

It was the first time she ever saw him laugh. A rare sight. “Oh. Well. I’m thinking my work will probably not strike such a chord with you then. My stuff is a bit more abstract and moody. Are you familiar with Basquiat?”

“Maybe? Not really.”

“You’re probably the sort who grew up with all sorts of expensive stuff around the house that doesn’t really mean shit. Reproductions of Monet or Degas little ballerinas? I bet your parents filled your mind with all the fluffy unicorn rainbow crap that goes for art in the mainstream markets.”

“Actually,” Catherine said in a frigid voice. “My mother died when I was quite young and my father knew nothing of art, nor could he afford much of it at all.”

“Well, then I should squire you to an art museum and teach you a thing or two.” He swept his black bangs off his forehead and his voice warmed.

“Oh, you should, should you?” She couldn’t stay mad.

“Yeah, you need a proper art history lesson.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. And with that they scheduled their first date.

**< 3 <3 <3**

“Are you going through your blue period,” she asked him.

“What do you mean?”

“Your fingers are all blue and you have blue paint under your nails, so I just figured you were doing that art thing where you go through a blue phase or whatever.”

“Well, look who’s been reading,” he said. He put his blue hands around her neck and pulled her into him. For a moment she looked frightened and then she looked thrilled. He kissed her hard and pushed her back onto the bed. Her head bounced once on the pillow as she made contact with the mattress, but it was all soft. In an instant he was on top of her, surrounding her, breathing her breath and devouring her flesh. She clung to him.

“It’s my first time,” she whispered.

“I don’t believe you,” he growled. He shoved her sundress up and tore her panties off and told himself her moans and sighs meant she was willing. She held him and shook, but she kissed him back. When he touched her with his hand she was plenty wet, but when he started to push his cock into her he felt for certain the resistance of her flesh, the taut memory of youth that gave him pause.

“Don’t stop now,” she gasped. She grabbed his ass and shoved him into her, into a space so hot and tight it nearly squeezed his orgasm right out of him in that very moment. But he floated there inside her and held her face in his hands.

“Oh, Cathy,” he whispered. “Oh, fuck, you feel so good.” He sucked her mouth, kissing her with a sloppy intensity only known to the ecstatic.

“Ouch,” she cried as he began to move. She focused on a tattoo of a bird on the inside of his arm. She thought she saw it flutter. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. No.” She whimpered against his shoulder. “Take me. Please. Make me yours.”

“You are mine, Cathy. You are, oh fuck, oh!” He pulled out fast and came on her hip in a gesture she was not expecting at all. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” He wiped at her skin with the sheet.”

“Just kiss me then,” she said, and he did.

**< 3 <3 <3**

She walked through the shops looking for just the right thing. There was a poster, but that seemed a stupid thing. There was a stuffed bunny but it would have confused him. Candles? Why were men so difficult to shop for?

He wanted to marry her. He told her. He took her to look at rings and bought her one. It had been almost a year they had been dating. So, finding an appropriate birthday gift for Ed was of the essence.

She rounded a corner and almost slammed into him.

“Cathy.”

“If you say so.”

“What are you doing?”

“Where the fuck have you been, Heath?”

“Away. School. And stuff. How are you? You look good.”

“Fuck you, Heath.”

“I heard you were engaged, or like as good as engaged. So is there a ring or what?”

She raised her left hand and showed him the diamond.

“Very pretty,” he sniped. “Like clouds and horses and sunset skies.”

“Fuck you,” she said again but he had her hand still and was pulling her closer to him. “I loved you. I thought of you every day and you fucking left me like I was nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly what happened.”

“How could you?”

“How could I what?”

“How could you stop loving me?” Tears rolled down her face. He had her backed into a corner of the shop.

“I never stopped for a second, Cathy,” he grumbled. “Take this fucking thing off.” He pulled on the ring which at first didn’t want to come over her knuckle, but he did not relent and she did not pull her hand away. Once it was over her knuckle it slid off easily. For a moment he held it up in the fluorescent light of the shop. He scowled at it and then grinned at her. Then he threw it up in the air. “Let’s go get a coffee,” he said.

She gasped. Somewhere in the store the ring came falling down with the smallest jingle. She almost didn’t hear it.

And then she laughed.

He led her by the hand out of the shop.


	2. After Midnight (the X Files/ Mulder and Scully)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Fox, he falls in love at first sight with Dana every time he sees her. . . that is as long as he isn't distracted by a delicious piece of pie.

He felt the petite redhead staring at him as he ate the second piece of pie. He finished the last bite and scraped his fork across the plate to get up the last bits of ice cream. With his mouth still full, he raised up his fork and said to the waiter, “I’ll have another.” The waiter shrugged and brought him another piece of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side.

“More coffee?”

“Fill her up,” Mulder said and shoved his cup across the diner counter at the waiter. Without looking up, he consumed bite after bite of the pie, scraped the plate clean with his fork and then said, “Another,” to the waiter with his mouth still full. The scene replayed itself. He continued to feel the gaze of the redhead several stools down. Hazel. He guessed her eyes were hazel. Green eyes with that hair would be too good to be true.

Some jokester approached the juke box and suddenly the diner was filled with the mellifluous notes of Patsy Cline. “I go out walkin’ after midnight, out in the moonlight, just like we used to do. I’m always walking after midnight, searching for you.” Mulder rolled his eyes and guzzled his coffee.

“You looking at me,” he finally said to the redhead.

“I’ve just never seen a man eat so much pie before,” she said quite plainly.

“Is that a come on? Cuz you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, little lady.” Mulder was actually feeling a little queasy, truth be told. Five pieces of pie and a pot of java was not the dinner of champions, especially at two in the morning, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Mulder winked at the redhead who hadn’t visibly reacted to his pun. “Someone abduct your sense of humor?”

“No. Just my desire to laugh at creepy overtures,” she retorted.

“I suppose that’s fair and I apologize for my overture as you call it. I’ll blame it on the pie. You come here often?”

She raised her eyebrow at him and couldn’t help a sideways half smile. “No.”

“You a doctor or something?” He asked nodding at the pale green scrubs she wore.

“A surgeon, actually,” she corrected. “Neuro. Fifth year.”

“Oh, well then. Fifth year. That’s when they take the training wheels off and let you do the real cool stuff right?” He scooted over a stool closer to her.

“You could say that,” she said. She swiveled on her stool so she faced him more directly. “I work weird hours. I’m actually on my way in to perform a procedure after this.” She looked down at the cup of coffee she had cradled between her hands. “What do you do?”

“I’m sort of in between things at the moment,” Mulder began. “I was writing for this paper. Investigative journalism about paranormal phenomenon. And I’m working on a novel. But I’m sort of traveling around now and taking a break from. . . stuff.”

“Paranormal phenomenon?”

“Yep.”

“You mean like little green men who come down from outer space?”

“Gray.”

“Huh?”

“Gray. Little gray men. Their skin tone is actually much more gray than green, but that’s a common misconception.”

“I see.” She sipped her coffee. The man had eyes that shone like polished amber in the dull light of the diner. He was handsome in a very traditional way that she generally enjoyed, but the fact he pursued such goofy endeavors was a disappointment that made her sigh. Why could she never find the doctors or lawyers or business moguls? Why did she always attract the spooky sorts who were chasing after little green, uh, gray men or applying to clown college.

“My name is Fox,” he said and extended his hand. Holy cow, she had blue eyes. He almost choked on his own pie-flavored saliva. 

“Dana,” she said and offered her hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever shaken hands with a brain surgeon before,” he said. He kept her hand in his and turned it over to examine it more closely.

“Are you going to read my palm?” She scoffed.

“No. Palmistry is not in my repertoire, but I could give you some referrals if you want.”

This made her laugh, “I’m sure you could.” He let go of her hand and she reluctantly brought it back to her coffee.

“Can I buy you a piece of pie?”

“I’ve got to get over to the hospital,” Dana sighed.

“Well then, take one to go,” Mulder insisted. He raised his hand and summoned the waiter over. “Box up a piece of apple pie for the lady here. She’ll need a snack after she goes tinkering around in the cavernous coils of the human brain and saving people from what ails them.”

“Anyone ever tell you you have a way with words, Fox?”

“Once or twice,” he said with a wink.

<3 <3 <3

“You know I fell in love with your mother at first sight.”

“Don’t listen to him, William. He’s a complete liar.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

The baby gurgled and kicked his legs and looked up at the two of them. His eyes flitted back and forth between their faces.

“I can’t wait to teach him how to play baseball,” Mulder said.

“Well, what if he doesn’t want to play baseball, Fox?”

“Come on, Dana! Every healthy American boy wants to play baseball!”

“Shut up, Fox,” Dana said and kissed him. “Maybe he will want to do biology club or be a mathlete.”

“Aw, Dana, if we have it your way Will is going to grow up to be a total nerd.” Mulder stroked the side of her face and tucked a red lock of hair behind her ear. The baby chose that moment to make his opinion known with a loud screech. “Uh oh. What’s wrong little man?” Mulder put his hand on the baby’s tummy and patted him gently.

“He’s probably hungry,” Dana said and scooped her son into her arms. She opened her shirt and took out a breast to nurse him, then laid back on the bed with him.

“Again? He just ate.”

“He takes after his father,” she said dryly as William latched onto her nipple and started to greedily gulp. His little fist relaxed against her flesh.

“I could watch you do this all day,” Mulder sighed.

“I’m probably going to fall asleep, so it’s probably going to be pretty boring, but whatever floats your boat, Fox.” Dana closed her eyes and relaxed against the pillows.

“Well it is way after midnight so you must be exhausted,” Mulder said. He kissed her forehead and then kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Man he smells good. And for the record, I did fall in love with you at first sight.”

“Yeah, Fox. Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

“And I have fallen in love at first sight with you every time I’ve seen you ever since.”

She had to hand it to him, he still had a way with words.


	3. And It Was All Yellow (Fringe/ Astrid and Walter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid had never thought of Walter as an old man, or even as an older man. Astrid had always thought of Walter simply as her other half. His was the shadow that curled into hers at night and walked next to her by day. He was the second beat that made her heart work. . . . The fact he had a decent thirty years on her barely even filtered into her consciousness. . . until he got sick.

The grocery store in their neighborhood didn’t sell boxes of just the root beer flavored popsicles. And that was what he wanted and that was what he had to have. So she bought five boxes of assorted flavors and picked out the root beer ones.

“You and your weird food issues, Walter,” she whispered as she packed the into the small sized cooler that they took with them to his treatments. But really it made Astrid smile. Personally, she hated the root beer popsicles. She popped a couple lime ones into the cooler just in case she decided to have one later. The rest she chucked into the trash.

What he would really crave would be a strawberry milkshake, but those didn’t sit so well in his stomach. She’d learned her lesson the hard way after treatment number two.

“His numbers are looking good!” The doctor said cheerfully. Astrid tried not to bite the fuchsia lipstick off her lips. Every day was a day.

His corduroy pants had grown baggy, even with a belt. One day he walked up to her in the kitchen, wiggled his hips, and they fell down around his ankles. Naturally he was not wearing any underpants. He looked at her over his shoulder and grinned. He wagged his eyebrows. “Come on Astro!” He cheered. “You know you want some of this action!” She’d giggled helplessly and slapped his boney ass, but then he winced in discomfort at her touch and she felt terrible. Still he turned back around and proudly displayed his erection as though it were the only one ever known to human kind.

Those were the good days. The days when he could make a little joke and get her to laugh at how horrible it all was.

The nurse got him settled in the chair and started the IV. He pulled out a popsicle from the cooler and pushed it up through its wrapper. He handed her a lime one and she opened it and sucked on it in a suggestive way that made him roll his eyes and grin. “Oh yeah,” he said, but his attempt at being humorous was as half hearted as Astrid’s.

For a few moments they were quiet, sucking their popsicles. Maybe it was the muddy brown color Astrid didn’t like. Maybe they didn’t taste that bad. Maybe they just reminded her that this was where they were. She tried to rationalize her dislike of root beer popsicles.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Did you ever hear that song where the guy is singing to his girl and he keeps saying it’s all yellow?”

“Do you mean the song Yellow by Coldplay,” Astrid asked. “Yeah. I like that song. It’s pretty.”

“I heard it the other day in the car with Peter and it made me think of you.” He reached for her hand with the hand that had the IV in it, but then switched his popsicle to that hand, and reached for her with the other. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed. He leaned his head back against the recliner.

Peter had been trying to give Astrid some support in caring for his father. He was a good son, but he had Olivia and the twins to worry about, so Astrid never felt completely comfortable turning to him for assistance.

“Do you want another pillow?” She asked him. She had to clear her throat to get the words out. These days made her want to weep from start to finish, but she knew if she started she would never stop. There will be a time for that after, she thought. It was a miserable thought. So, she wanted to get up and get a pillow or a heated blanket or another pair of socks, or a magazine, or anything to keep herself in motion. As long as you stay in motion, she thought. She had read that somewhere once, and it was proving to be true.

“My dear, I’m just fine. Thank you,” he said. She could tell he was tired, but he sucked off the last of his popsicle and put the stick down on the table next to him. She picked up his popsicle stick and her half finished popsicle and got up to get some paper towels to wrap them in and threw them in the trash. It briefly crossed her mind to put them in her pocketbook to save them as momentos. Momento mori, she thought and then she felt disgusting and ashamed. When she turned back to him, his head was back against the chair and his eyes were closed. He didn’t see her blushing about the popsicle sticks. He resembled a sleepy cat.

For a moment she thought he’d drifted off to sleep. The anti-nausea medication that they gave him made him sleepy. And also he’d taken a few hits of his “special blend” prior to getting in the car, and then while they were in the car, and then prior to exiting the car. The nights had been difficult and Astrid had been awake with him for long, hard hours over the past weeks, so she didn’t particularly care what he smoked, or where he smoked it so long as it gave him a few minutes rest.

“And you were all yellow,” he sang, suddenly, but under his breath. He opened his eyes to peek at her.

“You know I look horrible in yellow,” she said.

“I didn’t know that. I can’t imagine that you would look horrible in any color, except perhaps puce. No one can possibly look attractive or even healthy in puce.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything yellow in my life. But still, it is a pretty song.” She sat down in the chair near him and pulled it a few inches closer with a scratching noise. “Should I see if we can get tickets to go to a Coldplay concert?”

“Oh, do they play around here?” He asked with those wide, hazel eyes.

“Who knows? But if you want to go, I’ll find out. Phillip has some connections in the entertainment business. I can ask him.” She put her hand on his thigh and tried not to wince when she felt how thin it had become.

Astrid had never thought of Walter as an old man, or even as an older man. Astrid had always thought of Walter simply as her other half. His was the shadow that curled into hers at night and walked next to her by day. He was the second beat that made her heart work. He was as intricately intwined with her as her own fingerprints. The fact he had a decent thirty years on her barely even filtered into her consciousness. . . until he got sick. Almost overnight he went from a vital being to a wizened creature she barely recognized by sight. But it didn’t matter. When she heard his voice she knew he was the other half that made her whole.

Feeling his boney thigh nearly made her choke with grief.

 _But his numbers are good his numbers are good. His numbers are good!!! His numbers are good his numbersaregoodhisnumbersaregoodhisnumbersaregoodhisnumbersaregood_. .. . she chanted it over and over. _Another day is another day._

She tried to picture him back in his office at Harvard, preparing his lectures. She tried to imagine him full of energy and temper when he didn’t get his way, like he was when she’d first met him as his grad student assistant all those years ago.

Walter had closed his eyes again and put his head back. “Are you tired,” she asked him.

“Yes. A little bit. I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“I’d never have known from your orchestral arrangement of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I mean, I never knew that could sound so amazing on the ukulele,” Astrid said with a smile.

“Oh, did that keep you up? I am so sorry my dear. Why don’t you go out and get some lunch? There is that little place around the corner where you can get that nice sushi.”

“I don’t want to leave you here all by yourself, Walter,” she said.

“Please,” he said and gave her a preemptive look of apology. “I’ll be here a while and you should take five, uh, while you can,” he said and looked around the room anxiously. She assumed he was thinking about what would come later, when they got home, when she had to roll up her sleeves and put her head down to become the bearer of cool cloths, the emptier of basins filled with vomit, the waitress bearing saltines and ginger ale, and the task master who refused him tacos and ice cream sundaes at three in the morning. It was not a role she’d imagined for herself, especially not at 33. “I’d love to sit and read the paper,” he stated and reached for the complimentary newspaper on the stand next to him.

“You never read the paper,” she said.

“Yes. Well, it’s never too late to begin a new thing, is it? Don’t you tell me that all the time?”

“I tell you that about stuff like learning to pick up your socks and remembering to wear pants when you leave the house, Walter.”

“First of all, you know pants are optional on Tuesdays. Second of all, we are all marvelous works in progress. I will try harder about the socks. Now leave me with my paper.”

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. He grabbed her chin with his untethered hand and gave her a dry kiss on the lips. She tucked a curl behind her ear and stood up. He smiled. “What?” She asked.

“I just looked down your blouse,” he said and pressed his lips together in a feline grin.

“Oh, Walter,” she said. She had the urge to slap his arm in a playful manner, but she checked it. She was afraid of hurting him.

She walked out onto the city streets She didn’t have much appetite for lunch so she wandered up and down the streets near the hospital. There were a few shops. It briefly crossed her mind in one to buy a colorful scarf that looked like it was made out of antique saris. She pushed them down the rack, admiring the patterns and letting the silky fabric slip between her fingertips. But then she felt like she didn’t want one. She left the shop and walked on.

She looked at some up-cycled artsy stuff. Jewelry made out of repurposed clock parts and the like. She warmed up as she walked and it was hot in the next shop she went into. She thought about unzipping the deep purple jacket she wore, but for some reason, she couldn’t make her hand do it. She felt the sweat gather on the small of her back and in her arm pits and it felt terrible. She wondered what Walter would say about a miniature robot made out of a melted vinyl record. _That better not be a Bowie! Melting perfect art to make sub par art? Well, that is just some bizarre cannabilism I’ve never seen before. Terrible!_ She smiled, knowing it was exactly what he would say.

Someone had once told her loving someone means seeing the world through two sets of eyes- your own, and theirs. For Astrid, it meant constantly hearing Walter’s voice making random observations and commentary about random things.

Back on the street, she walked past a flower shop. Buckets of water held flowers out on the sidewalk, trying to tempt consumers. Pink carnations. Baby’s breath. Phallic looking lilies with bulbous, gleaming stamens (I mean, who actually likes those things? She thought.). There was a pail full of roses dyed a macabre blue.

It crossed her mind to buy Walter some of the blue roses just to show hi what an awful color they were. How unnatural. She thought she could make a joke out of it, present them with some awful, sappy card for an even that was totally inappropriate But then she thought about all the cards they would never get for things like baby showers, christenings, anniversaries. The thought made her pissy because she hated feeling sorry for herself.

_I should be back there, she thought Every minute. . ._

_Every minute of what?_

The thought trailed off.

Her feet kept moving and she walked past the flower shop. She thought about going into a bar and having a glass of wine. A crisp sauvignon blanc would be just the thing. But she didn’t want to go back to him with alcohol on her breath. It would make him worried and nauseous.

As she let go of the fantasy of cool, straw-colored alcohol, she wondered if there were a place for a mani/pedi, but then she didn’t really feel like she had time for that.

She walked up a hill. She felt the sweat drip from the hollow of her back, down to the cleft of her bottom. It was a disgusting feeling. Still, she did not unzip her jacket and she kept walking. She walked into a little park. There was a grubby fountain emitting a squat gurgle of water In the freshly tilled soil at the base of it were fluffy bunches of daffodils.

She stared at them. She looked around her. Reaching down, she yanked three of them out of their bed. For a moment, she stood there, holding them. Her heart raced in her chest like she was a kid scared of getting caught.

 _Keep moving. You’’ll be okay as long as you keep moving_. Where the hell had she heard that before?

She sped walked back to the hospital. By the time she got back, she was breathing hard. Her hands were gritty with dirt from the flowers she snatched. She ducked into the ladies’ room before going back to Walter. She fixed her hair and put on some lipstick. She washed her hands and then washed them again By the time she completed these tasks her heart had slowed and she was ready.

His head was back and his eyes were closed, and he didn’t open them when she came in so she assumed he was dozing. He looked pale. She had an urge to slap or pinch his cheeks to bring some color into them, but she checked it. She’d never hurt him.

She took a sheet of his newspaper and wrapped it around the dafodils. He heard her crinkle the paper and looked up.

“Hey,” he yawned.

“Hi,” she said and proudly extended her purloined posey. “I stole you some flowers.”

“Now that’s my girl,” he said. “You shouldn’t have. No, really, Astrid, you shouldn’t have. I should be buying you flowers. I should have exotic bunches of night blooming jasmine flown in for you from Egypt.” She put the bouquet on the table next to his popsicle cooler. They looked gravely at one another. “You’re back so soon. They still have another bag of this poison to run through me.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I’d love a cruller,” he sighed. “And a couple hits of my Brown Betty.”

“I’ll go down and see if they have any in the cafeteria. As for the other stuff, I think you’re going to have to wait until we get to the car at least.”

“Maybe in a bit, that cruller would be nice. But right now, would you just sit there next to the flowers so I can look at you?” He squinted at her as she positioned herself in her chair in front of the flowers. She unzipped her jacket and shrugged it off. “Beautiful.”

“Oh you. You’re just an old charmer,” she smiled.

“Yes. It’s true. I am. I say that to all the girls, don’t I Linda?” He said and looked up at the nurse who came in and looked at the lines running into his arm.

“I guess our little secret is out now,” she said fondly. “Sorry Astrid.”

Astrid tried to smile and even to laugh a little, but something about the forced humor, and something about the way it was being done for her benefit made her stomach roll over. “Excuse me,” she said and popped up out of the chair. She rain into the bathroom, slammed the door and threw herself down in front of the toilet. Her throat convulsed and a trickle of sweet, green slime came up and out of her. She coughed violently. There was nothing more in her, and yet her body seemed determined to turn itself inside out with retching.

She thought about the smell of incense in the shop with the silk scarves. She thought about the way a cruller would leave a translucent smear of grease on the paper in which it was wrapped. She thought of the little otter in her belly, how it was possibly turning over and over, spinning around without her even feeling it.

After she wiped her face and rinsed her mouth, she went back out to Walter. Mercifully, he’d fallen asleep. She pulled her chair right up next to his, as close as she could. He snored lightly. She sat down and took his hand, the one without any IV lines in it. She brought it over to her, and she put it on her stomach. She leaned her head on his shoulder and she tried to catch the wave of his breath, hoping against hope that by breathing exactly the same cadence, they could turn the raw material of their flesh and bones into something more beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please feel free to comment. I live to hear from you and try my best to respond to everyone. Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to consider my work. You have no idea how much it means to my heart. xoxoxo. 
> 
> \-- SS..


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